


Heart's Desire

by Hekate1308



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Gen, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:29:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24588358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: There was once a young boy, and like any other young boy in storybooks, he wished for his heart’s desire. Magical Realism AU, Morse is a Thursday.
Relationships: Endeavour Morse & Fred Thursday, Endeavour Morse & Joan Thursday, Endeavour Morse & Sam Thursday, Endeavour Morse & Win Thursday
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Heart's Desire

**Author's Note:**

> How do I even explain this? This is an AU of a dream in While These Visions Did Appear, with a bit of Neverwhere and my OCs thrown in... I hope this is clear enough to... anyone who isn't me. Ah well. Enjoy!

There was once a young boy, and like any other young boy in storybooks, he wished for his heart’s desire.

Unlike many other young boys, however, his heart’s desire had nothing to with becoming king or slaying dragons, nor even with the magical powers that had manifested after his thirteenth birthday.

He didn’t even know his heart’s desire. But magic did, because magic always does.

* * *

Win once more couldn’t suppress a surge of guilt when Endeavour came downstairs in the morning, mumbled a greeting and set the table before sitting down to have breakfast, as usual staring at his plate and barely interacting with any of them, least of all paying his sibling much attention.

It wasn’t her fault, she told herself once more; she had really and truly believed that she’d be able to love Fred’s child; that it hadn’t come to pass was unfortunate, that was all.

Sadly, children noticed such things much more than most adults believed; and Endeavour, she had come to realize, had felt from the first that there was nothing behind the crusts cut off his sandwich or her comforting hugs when the bombs had gone done, nothing tangible, nothing warm.

And of course he had seen the difference in her eyes when Joan and Sam had been born.

So its was a small wonder that the by now thirteen-year-old boy was often silent and spent most of his time alone, reading or doing crosswords or listening to his LPs.

Oh, they had done their best, of course; he was a responsible and clever young man, obedient and polite, who had even developed magic skills and only courtly informed them during dinner one night that he had already registered for lessons so nothing would happen.

Win often wished she could have been proud of him, or at least a good enough liar that she could have made him believe they were.

But every time she met those eses, she knew that he knew.

“I am going to the Market today, to help Old Saxon” was all he said during breakfast, in stark contrast to his siblings, who were chattering away and, to Win’s regret, ignoring him as usual.

“Alright” she said quietly. “Do you want a sandwich?”

But he shook his head. “I’ll get something there.”

She’d noticed this tendency to have as little as possible to do with anyone or anything in their home for a while now; but what could she do about it? It was their own fault for failing to give him the love any child deserved.

And so she just nodded and wished him a good day.

* * *

Endeavour liked Old Saxon. She didn’t look at him with pity and regret in her eyes, like Mother, or puzzlement, like Father, and she didn’t ignore him like Joan and Sam. She simply treated him like a friend, and he didn’t have many of those.

And so, he’d made a habit of helping her out during Market days ever since she had shown up at school to explain about the stands and what one could buy, and that one had to be careful when dealing with magic users.

It was a nice day, but his hearts felt heavy. That in itself wasn’t unusual, too; but when he saw a family with three children walk by, all of them clearly loved and cared for, he had to look away.

He’d tried so hard over the years. Every morning before any of the others got up, he slipped downstairs and put the kettle on; he always cleared the driveway in winter; back during the war, he’d tried making Mother feel better with his drawings.

Nothing had ever made a difference, and yet he kept up his little labours of love – for that was what they were. They might never have been able to love him, but he loved them, as much as any thirteen-year-old could love. They were all he had, after all.

Sometimes, it was true, he missed _Mum_ – the mum he’d believed loved him during his toddler years, before he’d realized – but it wasn’t as if he could do anything about it.

“Hello, Endeavour.”

He had walked up to Old Saxon’s stall without realizing it, so lost had he been in his thoughts. “Hello, Old Saxon.”

She frowned. “You look sad.”

He shrugged and gave his usual answer. “I’m feeling a little down.”

It was better than to admit the truth – that he rarely recalled a time where he’d been completely happy. He told himself he was lucky; Mother hadn’t had to take a child from her husband and another woman in; so really, he should be content.

“How can I help you today?” he asked instead to distract himself.

“Oh, could you please take this” she held out a bag “to Mr. Fox? I promised him some limbus grass.”

He nodded as he took it.

“And stay away –“

“From the stalls with the Sign of Darkness painted on them” he dutifully finished the sentence.

She nodded. “Good”.

She was one of the few who ever gave him praise.

And so, he carefully made his way through the Market, making certain that at least one another stall was behind him and those with the Sign at all times. His magic was still relatively untrained; he wouldn’t know how to combat any curses thrown his way.

It was while he was on his way back to Old Saxon that he came across the man.

It was a normal stall – apparently selling ready-made spells stowed in glass – without any signs of any kind; and so, when he saw one of the cubes wobble and threatening to fall, probably taking several others with it, he acted quickly.

A stabilizing spell later – it was one of the easier ones, the first one he’d managed perfectly, in fact – someone chuckled. “Quick thinker, aren’t you?”

Endeavour turned around to find a man around fifty. “Have to thank you, young Endeavour” he continued, walking past him, “That’s my stall.”

“I didn’t tell you my name” he pointed out, since they’d learned early on about the importance of names and the dangers of giving it to strangers.

“Oh, you’re Old Saxon’s little friend, everyone knows that.”

It was true; he’d become somewhat notorious at the Market ever since he had started helping out, since Old Saxon had never had an assistant before; and so he had no other choice but to accept the explanation.

“Hm. Nice, solid work with the spell” he said, studying the display. “And – oh, the one you straightened out is one of my most expensive spells! I owe you something.”

“A small favour then” he hastened to reply; it was never good to leave such things hanging, not when it came to magic.

“Really? No, no, you deserve more –“ He squinted at him, then grinned. “Oh I know – your heart’s desire!” He snapped his fingers.

Endeavour, who mistakenly believed he had no such thing, not yet, was relieved and didn’t think it was worth the trouble telling Old Saxon about it.

If he had, there were quite a few things she would have done.

* * *

That night, Endeavours had little appetite, but since this was an all too common occurrence, neither he nor his family members paid too much attention.

But after the meal, he began to feel slightly ill and achy; he decided against mentioning it. Certainly, it would pass soon.

It didn’t, growing worse as the week went on. He came to suspect that he was running a light fever too, but everyone else was doing well and he didn’t want to make a fuss; if it hadn’t got better by the weekend, he decided, he could ask Mother for an aspirin.

The problem was that, waking up on Saturday, he found himself incapable of getting out of bed. Even before that, putting on Mum’s kettle and putting away the kiddies’ toys had become more and more exhausting; but now, his muscles wouldn’t obey him.

And then he suddenly and despairingly understood.

He had been wrong; he had a heart’s desire. And it was now what it had been back when he’d tried to make Mother feel safe – to see his family happy.

And this was how it was going to be accomplished.

He was going to die, and they’d be rid of him for good. The cruel irony made him laugh, if only for a moment.

His last clear thought was that he wished he could have known. He would have liked to say goodbye to Old Saxon.

* * *

Win would always blame herself. She had watched their boy grow even thinner and paler than he already was over the past week and occasionally wondered if he was feeling a bit under the weather, but hadn’t asked.

She hadn’t even suspected something when she came down and, for the first time she could remember since they had move into their house, didn’t find the kettle on.

It was only when Sam came downstairs, and only then, that she realized something was wrong.

“Mummy?”

She smiled at their three-year-old before taking in that he looked rather scared. “What is it, dear?”

“It’s – it’s Endeavour. He’s all hot, and he won’t wake up.”

A few moments later, she was in their room. “Endeavour?”

She reached out and took his temperature. Sam had been right; he was too hot. Much too hot.

Fear seized her. “Endeavour?”

She only managed to rouse him long enough for him to mumble “Tired” and go back to sleep.

Her heart beating wildly, she turned and found Fred at the door. “What –“

“Fred, get a doctor. Now!”

Knowing her too well to doubt the necessity, he moved to do so.

She turned back to Endeavour. “Don’t worry dear” when had she last called him dear, she wondered, perhaps when he’d been a toddler “Help’s coming –“

And then her eyes fell on his breast; his pyjamas had opened, undoubtedly because he’d been trashing around, and there were several red spots on his chest –

_No. Oh God, no._

* * *

“There can be no doubt about it” Doctor Harrington announced gravely, “Typhoid fever. In its second week, I’d say. Wasn’t he showing symptoms before?”

“Yes he was” she admitted quietly, “We just didn’t realize.”

Fred, as always her rock, asked, “What’s the prognosis?”

If she hadn’t known him so well, she would have thought him cold and downright indifferent; but she heard the slight quiver in his voice, the panic she herself was experiencing.

“I’ll do what I can, but there is precious little, I’m afraid. We’ll have to see if his body fights off the infection.”

 _Or if he dies_ , Win finished the sentence in her head, _or if he dies._

At least, since none of them showed any symptoms, it was decided that the children and Fred could stay in the house while she nursed Endeavour, Doctor Harrington being of the opinion that, if they would have fallen ill, they would have done so already.

With a heavy heart, she returned to Endeavour, only to have the last revelation of the day, and perhaps, in some ways, the hardest.

For, as she took him in – sweating and clearly suffering, frowning in his unrestful sleep – she felt it for the first time when looking at him – what had always been there – what she should have been aware of – bright and strong and caring, what she felt for Joan and Sam – the love of a mother.

And, all alone with her eldest, she cried.

* * *

It didn’t take her long to realise that Fred, too, had come to understand what Endeavour meant to him now that they could lose him.

Distressed and unable to articulate his feelings in the only way Win could, since she had always been the one to nurse the children when they fell ill, he offered to sit up the nights with him, but she refused; he had, after all, his work in the morning.

He bit his lip and stared at Endeavour before reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “Hang in there, son.”

He didn’t react.

* * *

Win had thought that she already felt bad enough; guilty and worried and desperate; but what she had experienced when she realized Endeavour was seriously ill was nothing – nothing – compared to coming downstairs on the third day of nursing their oldest and finally understanding that the kettle wasn’t on because _Endeavour wasn’t there to put it on_.

For years, she’d believed it was a gesture of affection of Fred’s.

There were other things, too; Sam innocently asked her why the “toy goblin” he, as he turned out, believed in, no longer put his toys away in the night when he left them lying about, and Joan’s pencils didn’t sharpen “themselves”, as she put it, anymore either.

All those small gestures, all those little things Endeavour had done for them, without telling a soul, not expecting any love or even gratitude in return.

It made her heart ache in a way she hadn’t known it could.

She attempted the only means of relief at her disposal and went to read Endeavour a few poems, hoping against hope that he could hear her, that he knew that they care for and loved him.

 _If only_ , she prayed before she could stop herself, _we didn’t realize too late._

* * *

There was no reason whatsoever to be worried. Endeavour didn’t accompany her to every Market; and yet, on this Saturday, something told Old Saxon that something was very wrong.

She had learned to trust her instincts, and so, after the Market was done, she set out to his home.

The home in which, she believed, he found little happiness or affection. Oh, there was no abuse, no mistreatment, she had made certain of that; but there was still an absence of love and care in the short stories he told her, of his siblings ignoring him most of the time, of his father not finding any topic of conversation with him, of his mother providing meals but never asking how he liked them.

She had often wished she could interfere, but love born out of magic wasn’t real love, and Endeavour would have been able to feel it, she was sure.

When she rang the bell, it took a while for someone to open the door; but finally, a woman she supposed to be the boy’s mother (stepmother, he’d once told her quietly, although Old Saxon had never thought much of that distinction) answered the ring.

There were dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes, and her hair was slightly askew.

Old Saxon instantly became aware that she’d been right, but still politely began, “Good day, Mrs. Thursday. They call me Old Saxon. Sorry to bother you, but Endeavour wasn’t at the Market today, and I wanted to –“

She burst into tears, and for one horrible moment, Old Saxon believed the boy to be gone.

But then she ushered her in, explaining about his illness, and that currently her husband was looking after him.

Endeavour’s siblings, a boy and a girl, were sitting in the kitchen having tea, looking sad and downtrodden. When she explained who she was, the girl asked, “Can you make Endeavour better?”

Old Saxon had never had children, but her belief in magic was enough to almost break her heart. “I’ll try my best, dearie” she promised.

She looked at her with eyes that belied her age. “He’s been sharpening my pencils” she confided in her “That was a very nice thing to do.”

“Yes” she managed to say, “Yes it was.”

The little boy said nothing at all.

When she saw Endeavour, she felt a little more hope drain out of her. He looked so pale, so thin, so sickly, that it was almost impossible for her to reconcile the picture in front of her with the somewhat skinny but at least healthy boy who’d always been so eager to help her. “Oh Endeavor. I’m so sorry”.

She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair in a gesture she wouldn’t have been sure would have been welcome if he’d been awake, but she couldn’t help herself. The poor dear. “How long…” she began.

Mrs. Thursday looked at her and her expression told Old Saxon that they were thinking the same thing. “It’ll be the third week, tomorrow.”

Old Saxon knew typhoid fever, knew its symptoms and the recommended treatment, but she also knew that in the third week, all was decided. She knew that in the third week, the trashing and the panting and the talking would stop and Endeavour would lie still, very still; he would be on a road where there was no coming back from, but not yet so far as to consider the case hopeless.

And then he would hear it, the call of life – would hear it and would consider whether to come back to them or not. And if he would rather not, if he continued on –

“Talk to him” she said quietly. “Hold him. Let him know you care for and love him, even if you think he can’t hear you. Please, Mrs. Thursday.” After a paise she couldn’t help but add, “You do love him, don’t you?”

“As if he were my own” she replied quietly. “I just – I didn’t – what if it’s too late?”

“It’s never too late” she said firmly “As long as his heart is still beating”.

She stroked his hair one more time and stilled, then forced herself to continue the motion. She didn’t want to distress Mrs. Thursday any more than she already was.

But for a second, she had felt it.

The fury that encompassed when she realized what had happened – both at him and herself for not looking after Endeavour better – almost rendered her incapable of speech, but she managed to bid them goodbye and leave.

There was a man she needed to see.

Well, something like a man.

She had believed Robin Goodfellow had calmed down somewhat over the years, but obviously she had been wrong, and now Endeavour and his family were paying the price for it.

Not if she had anything to say.

She knew where he… stayed if not exactly lived. She’d known for a while.

She knocked until he opened, smiling insincerely when he saw who it was. “Old Saxon! And how can I help you on this fine –“

“You know why I am here” she hissed.

“I’m sure –“

“Don’t. Play. Games. With. Me.”

“Oh, so your little friend is in trouble?”

“He’s ill. He’s deathly ill.”

“Ah, so that’s how the magic is doing it.”

“If you have done anything –“

He raised his hands. “I just felt his heart’s desire – that his family should love him as he loved them – and promised him as such. If the magic decides he needs to be sick for them to realize what he mans to them, is it my fault?”

She knew she could expect no regret, no pity, and her heart sank as she realized he could do nothing to help, either. With magic like this, it had to run its course – one way or the other.

She didn’t tell him goodbye. She simply turned and went to the Temple to pray for her young friend.

* * *

The fever had spiked, and Endeavour was lying still now, so very, _very_ still. Win had to check his breathing from time to time, just to see, just to make sure –

She couldn’t take it anymore and crawled into the bed with him, holding him close to her, remembering countless nights like this in London, when she had foolishly believed she was only doing her duty when her boy had clung to her.

“Endeavour” she said quietly, “We all love you. I know we haven’t been – we should’ve been showing you, we should have been there for you… I can only say how sorry I am, and ask that you _allow_ us to show you. Please. My son. Come back to us.”

She stroked her hair like Old Saxon had done as the tears ran down her cheeks.

* * *

Someone was calling out to him, and Endeavour needed a moment to understand.

 _Mum_. Not Mother, who looked at him with sad eyes and wordlessly handed him sandwiches – no, Mum, the mum he’d believed in when he was a little boy and thought he was loved.

Yes. He wanted to see Mum.

Let them have their perfect family. He just wanted his Mum, if only for a few moments.

And so he followed the call.

* * *

The third day of Endeavour lying still. Win wondered if she was going mad.

And then, suddenly, unexpectedly and miraculously, he decided to come back to them.

His breathing seemed to deepen, and her heart beat faster.

_No, please –_

Only to hold her own breath when his eyes fluttered open and eventually focused on her. “Mum?”

He hadn’t called her _Mum_ in so long. With tears of gratitude in her eyes, she leaned forward and kissed his forehead, realizing that the fever was definitely going down. “Yes, sweetheart. You’ve been very ill, but it’s all going to be fine now.”

“Thanks Mum.”

He was thanking her – after everything, he was _thanking her_.

She stroked his hair. “Now you just rest, dearest, alright? So you’ll get better soon.”

* * *

Yes, this had been the right decision, he thought as he slowly drifted off to sleep, Mum holding him. He was at peace now; let his family be happy, let them be the family they’d always wanted to be.

He’d felt loved one more time. Many had it worse.

* * *

Everyone in the station had been walking on tiptoes around him since he broke the news that his oldest was fighting for his life, DCS Crisp relegating him to desk work.

It was just as well. He wasn’t sure he could have kept his temper out there.

He filled his pipe; his hands were shaking, as they had in the past three weeks.

Endeavour. He had never understood this child, with Constance’s colouring and especially her eyes, who was so quiet and preferred his books and his LPs to running around with his mates, as Fred had done at his age. He should have made more of an effort, much more.

But he’d mistaken understanding for a lack of affection between them, and now they were all paying the price for it. Certainly, if they’d been more alert, if they’d reacted to his first symptoms, the illness wouldn’t have been so severe.

Instead…

His phone rang and he quickly picked up.

“Oh Fred!”

For a second, he thought the worst had happened, but then he registered her tone of voice. “What –“

“He woke up, Fred! Just for a short time, of course, and he’s sleeping again, but the fever’s gong down! He’s come back to us.”

He’d never felt so relieved in his life, not even at the end of the war.

He all but jumped up from his desk and ordered the PC he met on the way to the car to inform DCS Crisp that his boy had woken up and he’d gone home; then he left with the man’s heartfelt congratulations still ringing in his ears.

* * *

“So he’ll be okay now?”

Win smiled. “Yes, dear. It’ll take time, but the doctor said he should make a full recovery.”

Joan’s face lit up. “We can play then!”

“Yes, you can” she said happily.

“He can have my toy cars!”

She smiled at Sam. “I don’t think he’d take them, but he’ll certainly help you drive around, if you ask.”

“Yey!”

It felt like a curse had been lifted off the house.

That reminder her. With Fred currently watching over Endeavour, she went to call the number Old Saxon had left her.

To say she was happy would have been an understatement.

* * *

Fred itched for a pipe, but there was no reason to risk it, not with Endeavor still on the mend.

He was holding their boy’s hand when he came to. “Oy.”

He blinked at him, clearly a little confused. “Hello?”

“You’re getting better” he said firmly. “It’ll just take a while, that’s all.”

“Alright.”

He soon fell asleep again.

* * *

After that day, Endeavour was awake more and more often; Joan insisted that her teddy bear be placed in his bed, since it was “going to make him better” and Sam naturally followed suit. Win recalled with a pang that the bear he provided had originally been Dev’s and that he had simply quietly acquiesced when they’d asked if Sam could have him; now, she had no idea whether he’d actually been willing or not.

Endeavour was still weak, but more and more alert as time passed, and she made sure he was alone as little as possible.

He needed to know his family was there for him.

* * *

As he woke up one Thursday morning, Endeavour felt a little confused but much better.

It was time he took it upon himself to fulfil his duties once more.

After all, they had all taken very good care of him; he smiled at Joan’s and Sam’s teddy bears and carefully tucked them in as he left the bed.

It had felt… nice, he decided. That they’d been kind enough to pretend, for a while. But life had to move on, and so had he.

What he hadn’t counted on was that he was hardly recovered yet, and by the time he’d put the kettle on, Sam’s toys away and sharpened Joan’s pencils, he was feeling so exhausted that he simply had to sit down on the sofa for a moment; before he knew it, he’d dozed off, and was awoken a short time later by Mu- _Mother_ , he told himself firmly, _Mother_.

“Oh, dear! What are you doing here?”

“The usual” he told her quietly. “Putting the kettle on and…”

“Doctor Harrington said you needed rest!”

“I’m fine…”

“Just relax, sweetheart” she said, stroking his hair, “I’ll go get Dad, he’ll sort you out.”

Before he could answer, she’d bustled off; two minutes later, his father entered the living room. Thankfully, he didn’t seem as concerned as Mu- Mother ( _stop it_ ) but rather amused, if a little exasperated. “Trying to make a break for it, son?”

“Didn’t get very far”. The witty repartee escaped him before he could help himself; they didn’t do _this_ , they didn’t banter; but his father seemed, if anything, happier than before, if his chuckle was anything to go by.

He leaned down and picked him up. “Let’s get you back to bed, before Mum calls the doctor.”

He didn’t know what to do. Of Mum, he had some hazy recollections from the war; but how was he supposed to treat _Dad_ – this _stranger_? He decided to burry his head in his shoulder, like he’d seen Joan and Sam do, hoping that it would prompt some reaction to make him remember he was different, that he was the cuckoo in the nest – but _Dad_ just patted his back. “It’ll be fine. Doctor says a few more days of bed rest, and you’ll be good as new.”

Soon after he’d brought him back into his and Sam’s room, Mum served him breakfast. “Now, you have to absolutely promise me you won’t get up until you’re allowed to, Endeavour.”

“I won’t” he said quietly.

She kissed his forehead. “Oh dear, I am so glad you’re feeling better, don’t get me wrong.”

After he was done with breakfast, Joan and Sam came in, the former demanding he look at the picture she’d drawn him, the later climbing into his bed prattling on about Mr. and Mr. Bear and how they’d make him all well again because Joan had said so.

Endeavour absolutely loved it.

And yet, he knew this wasn’t normal, and so, after Mum had collected the kiddies so he could rest, he considered what was going on and realized.

His heart’s desire. That was what the man had promised him.

And he wasn’t nearly as altruistic or good as he had believed himself to be.

No; he’d wanted his family to love him; and that was what he’d got.

It was brilliant and amazing and wonderful, and so _very,_ very wrong.

They didn’t love him, and they shouldn’t be forced to. It was as easy as that.

Once he was well enough, he would have to speak to Old Saxon and fix this; and then he’d have to accept any punishment bestowed on him. For certainly what he had done as forbidden? It ought to be.

He buried his head in his pillow so no one would hear him cry as he realized that the biggest punishment of all would be to know what it was to be raised in a loving family for a few weeks, only to have to give it all up.

* * *

Three days later, he was allowed to get up, although Mum was very strict when it came to him regularly taking breaks and relaxing. Joan and Sam had taken it upon himself to make sure her rules were strictly adhered by. Mum still fussed over him, though.

Dad talked to him, now, when he was home, asked what he was reading or listening to, wanted to know him.

He tried to remember it all for the time after. He’d had no malicious intent; certainly, he was allowed to enjoy himself, just a little?

He was well enough to leave the house, the doctor had said, so on Saturday, he’d confess to Old Saxon, and it’d all be over.

Only for him to prove to weak to resist when Mum gently suggested that he should perhaps wait another week.

* * *

“Can’t catch me! Can’t catch me!”

Win smiled as she heard the children playing in the garden. Technically, of course, Endeavour – or ‘Deavour, as Joan had taken to calling him a few days ago, with Sam following her example immediately – would not have been able to catch them yet, if they had actually been trying; but instead, they were slow enough so he could get some exercise and not be too badly out of breath at the end of their game.

At around six pm, the door bell rang; she wasn’t surprised to see Old Saxon. “Mrs. Thursday. I wonder if it might be possible –“

“Oh, it’s Win, and please do come in. Endeavour will be glad to see you.”

She left them with tea in the kitchen, knowing that she probably wanted to check over their boy using magic, and that it was easier for magic users when there were no distractions.

* * *

“You look well, but still a little thin” Old Saxon told him with her usual honesty.

“I am feeling much better, thank you.”

She thought he looked somewhat subdued and was about to ask – certainly, he was finally getting the love that had ben his due all along, so why would he be sad – when he blurted out “I did a very bad thing.”

“I don’t think –“

But he kept talking, telling her how he’d apparently charmed his family into loving him, and her heart broke. “Oh no, Endeavour.”

“But –“

“The magic recognized your heart’s desire, yes. And Robin Goodfellow has a mischievous streak, ever since I can remember.” The Council had so far not ordered him to put the Sign of Darkness on his stall, but God knew she’d be trying her best to make that happen. “And so, you got ill, so your family would realize what you mean to them.”

“But the magic –“

“Endeavour, you have already learned to feel magic, haven’t you? Is there any magical influence on this home?”

“I don’t think so…” he said, apparently confused.

“See? They love you; they didn’t realize for a while, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong here, Endeavour.”

She should probably have expected him to burst into tears when he realized, she thought when he did exactly that.

* * *

Win hadn’t exactly been listening in, but she’d kept an ear on the kitchen in case anything happened, and so, when she heard quiet sobs, she hurried in. “Endeavour? What’s wrong?”

Old Saxon was rubbing his back and gently calming him down with a care that made Win truly love her. “He’s a little overwhelmed, but nothing to worry about.”

“Oh sweetheart, come here…” she pulled him into her arms; as he nestled his face into her blouse, as he had done when he had been nothing but a baby, she finally felt everything she had expected but failed to then.

She swore to herself she’d make it up to him. “Now, now” she continued, stroking his hair, “Everything’s fine”.

“Yes” Old Saxon echoed. “Everything’s fine.”

Endeavour pulled his head back and smiled at Win. “Yes. It is.”

And his smile was genuine.

**Epilogue – One Year Later**

“Hello, Old Saxon!”

She smiled at Joan, who as usual had run ahead of the others. “Well hello there. How do you like school?”

She frowned. “Letters are complicated”. Then she brightened up. “Dev’s been helping me though!”

Of course he had.

Said Dev – he’d been Dev for a while, by now – soon joined them with his parents, holding his younger brother’s hand.

What a difference a year could make, Old Saxon reflected. The undernourished-looking, shy and downright monosyllabic thirteen-year-old boy who had been helping her out back then had given way to a healthy, enthusiastic and extroverted fourteen-year-old who even now and then erred on the side of cockiness; but since he was never impolite, she’d decided she very much preferred that to the quiet creature she’d watched slink home more often than she could count.

These days, his family accompanied him to the Market. This invariably meant that he didn’t do as much as he could have, since he was often preoccupied with his siblings, but that was another price Old Saxon was only too glad to pay.

“Dev” she greeted him fondly. “How are your studies going?”

“I managed a detection spell yesterday!”

Win chuckled. “And thank God for that; I had no idea where my wallet had gone.”

Inspector Thursday nodded at Old Saxon, his eyes full of pride.

“Oh” she remembered, “You better stay way from the Eastern part of the Market. Robin Goodfellow’s back”.

Their eyes met; Dev briefly considered her words, then nodded.

“Good, then. Now –“

“Dev, look, there’s glass animals who move around!”

She gave up with a smile of her face and a shake of her head. “Look after your siblings and come when you can.”

He beamed. “Thanks, Old Saxon!”

She watched him skip over, then turned to his parents to make small talk, murmuring a quick blessing.

The gods knew she would never thank Robin Goodfellow for anything, but it was as close as she would ever come to do just that.


End file.
